Page 21 of Coronation
His tip has barely breached my swollen, soaked entrance before I’m pulled down into his lap harshly, filled so suddenly that I cry out in shock. “Fuck,” I whimper, my well-used inner walls burning at the suddenness of his intrusion. “Oh my god, Ben.”
“Relax,” comes the reproving order from the man behind me as he takes my knees in each hand, hooking them over hisown. I’m totally at his mercy, spread wide open and impaled on his thick length. My toes don’t even skim the floor of the car.
I’m trying to relax, really, I am, but it’s kind of easier said than done given the position we’re in. Ben isn’t moving, or giving any indication he’s planning to, and it’s torturous. I ache for him to fuck me, to relieve some of the pressure twisting in my lower belly, but when I try to take matters into my own hands, squirming, a large hand clamps down on my hip, stopping me.
“Sit still, you little imp.” His beard brushes the shell of my ear, adding to the sensory overload. “Now, tell me. Did you have any more concerns about my age?”
A quiet cry escapes my lips, “No. Nope. Not at all. Please fuck me?” I whine, still trying to buck against his hold, and getting absolutely nowhere.
Benedict’s free hand moves between my thighs, cupping my pussy hard enough to provide pressure, but none of the friction I need. “Patience, darling. It’s only a short drive to the house, and then we’ll be properly alone. The only thing you need to do now is keep my cock warm. Christ, you’re so worked up, aren’t you? There’s going to be a fucking puddle in my lap when I pull you off.”
My head drops back against his shoulder, rocking helplessly against the hand and cock keeping me in place. I can’t think about anything other than getting him to drive in and out of me, to give me some relief from the frustration that is so intense I might actually cry. “Ben,please,” my voice breaks. “I can’t take it anymore?—”
His answering chuckle is silent, but rumbles through his chest and into my back. Two fingers bend to brush gently over my throbbing clit before parting my lips as he had me do to myself a few minutes ago, exposing my soaking wet, swollen pussy to the cool air of the car.
The noise I make is somewhere between a sob and a moan, and it makes the giant cock buried inside me twitch, betraying the effect this teasing is having on him, too. “You can beg all you like; it won’t get you what you want. You’ll thank me later. Just think how hard you’ll come when I get you on your hands and knees and pound this greedy little hole.”
Another featherlight brush of fingers over my clit, and I swear I could come if he would go just a little harder. He won’t, though. Ben keeps up the agonizing, soft touching, careful to keep me on the edge without allowing me even an inch past. His body is warm against my back, and every filthy, horny word he murmurs in my ear winds the coil of tension inside me tighter, making me need it more.
The car turns a corner, and Ben is forced to abandon his hold on my hip to brace his hand against the window, stopping us from tilting over. My head turns instinctively, and he catches my lips in a messy, frantic kiss.
“Jesus, such a good girl,” he utters when we break apart, his fingers resuming their torturously light strokes. “You’re so goddamn soaked for me. Do you like being used like this, darling? Do you like keeping my cock warm?”
“Ben,” I say, and I think it may be the only thing I can say. He’severywhere; inside my body and wrapped around it, the sound of his devastating voice in my ear and his taste on my lips. “Ben,” I cry. “Ben, Ben, Ben?—”
I’m totally unaware of how much time has passed since we started this, but it’s surreal to open my eyes and realize we’re now passing through a sleepy little village. “Nearly there, I believe.” I’m rewarded with a sharp smack to my clit. “I’m fucking obsessed with this cunt. The shit I want to do to it, darling, you’d be running the other direction if you knew.”
His words are growing rougher and losing the polished, formal intonation he typically speaks with. Even as gone as I am, I can tell he’s struggling, too, and I tighten my innermuscles over his cock. There’s a low curse from the man behind me, so I do it again, then again, finding a rhythm. I squeeze him over and over again, as the hand on my clit begins to shake.
“Zelda.” There is warning in his voice as he bands an arm around my waist, sealing us together more firmly as the car turns yet again. There’s nothing but trees outside, the car is slowing, though, and Ben’s grip on my waist is bruising.
I don’t stop. I keep up my tiny, torturous movements as the thick cock inside me swells impossibly larger.
He’s so close, as worked up as I am, and I want to make him come more than I want it for myself. Before I can, though, the car slows to a stop and both of us look around, staring out the window at a beautiful old manor house.
Nine
Benedict
When my brother was at the helm, one of his chief priorities was modernizing the monarchy. Gone were the days of fussy, opulent parties. Instead, his boys attended football camp amongst the children of tradesmen, and his wife was very often seen wearing the same clothing more than once. All of this might seem common sense to the everyday citizen, but Arthur’s changes were wildly proactive for an institution that has thrived on changing as little as possible for centuries.
One of his other big moves was to dispose of several of the properties belonging to our family, many of which were scattered across the country, costing a fortune in upkeep and rarely put to any use. Some, like Fernmoor House, hadn’t been used in decades. Which is why I was surprised to see the place had survived Arthur’s purge and was still listed amongst The Crown’s assets when I became the bitter, reluctant captain of the proverbial ship.
“It was last used by my grandfather, as far as I’m aware,” Itell Zelda as we stand side by side on the dirt drive, looking up at the old stone manor house. “He hosted hunting weekends here. Supposedly. God only knows what the real purpose was.”
It’s clear the place underwent something of a hasty preparation for our arrival. Soil along the edge of the great stone slab steps is churned, as if weeds were recently yanked free, and even the huge brass knocker on the door smells faintly of polish.
The last-minute nature of our stay here undoubtedly required quite a lot of scrambling by the property managers to get it ready, but I can’t bring myself to care. Especially not as I grip the great iron door handle and glance over my shoulder at the beautiful woman behind me, whose cheeks are still flushed from our activities in the backseat.
Zelda’s eyes meet mine, and I feel my cock, which has been aching for relief, throb. “You’ve never been here?” she asks with a playful smile, and even without her saying so, I’m confident that I know what sentiment is swirling around her pretty little head.
Chuckling in agreement at how preposterous this is, I turn my attention back to the door. “Once or twice? Maybe?”
Actually, I know for a fact that I haven’t. The place only occurred to me as the horrible prospect of leaving her and returning to my usual, miserable existence began to set in, and I seized upon it like a drowning man. It was well worth it. I can’t recall the last time I was so relaxed, or so excited for what the next few days will bring.
The old door opens with a bit of a shove, and we step into a cavernous, wood-paneled entryway.
“It likely needs some updates,” I muse as I close the door behind us with an echoing thud, watching as Zelda moves further into the space, pausing only when she’s standingdirectly beneath the great, iron chandelier. My heart is in my throat as she turns slowly on the spot, taking it all in.
